


Visitations

by carmenta



Category: Coldfire - Friedman, Elisabeth
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-01
Updated: 2006-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight times Gerald Tarrant didn't die. And one time he did, but negotiated his way out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitations

"Hello, little one."

The child eyed the blond stranger warily, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

Death stepped forward and the boy immediately retreated. A wise precaution, under these particular circumstances. If he'd done so the last time someone had approached him, things would be different and Death would not have felt a need to come here.

He did not like to take children into his realm. They were not ready yet, their spirits not fully shaped. Not challenging, not interesting in any way, and so Death rarely deigned to visit them in person when their time came.

This one was different, however. Strength which belied the small, fragile body. Power there, so much power. So much potential. Strong enough to spike Death's curiosity. A child like this could accomplish much if given the time to grow up. He knew that this boy would make an interesting diversion eventually.

If the father didn't beat him to death first, that was. A swung fist, an unfortunate fall… children died so quickly.

"Do you want to come with me?" Death asked, a gentle smile on his lips. It could go both ways, right now. And if the boy wasn't a fighter, then maybe he wouldn't be so interesting after all, and it might be better if he died now.

The boy shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Then so be it," Death said and left him to a healing sleep.  
***

He saw the boy again twenty-three years later. No longer a child now, but a young man. Handsome, almost beautiful; enough to make Death glad that he had not gathered him as a child. Sometimes, waiting was well worth it.

A weak heart, this time. Nothing unusual. It was almost disappointing in its commonness. Death watched him struggle, watched as the fine face turned paler and paler, the grey eyes wide in desperation as he fought for breath.

Beautiful, and tempting enough for Death to become intrigued by the power he still felt in that trembling body.

Down on bended knee, he reached out to touch a ghostly white cheek with his gloved fingertips. So afraid, almost shaking to pieces.

"It will be gentle," he crooned, stroking the smooth, beardless skin in a tender caress. "Come with me and be at peace, away from those foolish mortals. No more anger, no more frustrations. Wouldn't that please you?"

Silver eyes stared up at him, dark with panic.

"No." A whisper, almost inaudible.

"Why not?" Death asked. Resistance. Enjoyable; he liked it when they did not give in immediately.

"I cannot die yet."

Death laughed softly, his hand straying to the light brown hair. "You can," he said, carding his fingers through the fine strands. "All you have to do is come with me. It is so very simple."

He was surprised when he saw a flash of stubbornness on the ashen face.

"I will not," Gerald Tarrant whispered fiercely. "Not yet."

For an instant Death was disinclined to accept the refusal. A beautiful companion, spirited enough to make it worth his while. Why should he wait?

Still, with a few more years of life… it was never wise to harvest them too soon. Let them mature into a richer vintage. Besides, Death knew that this heart would not beat forever. Another year, perhaps, or two. Five at most.

He could wait.  
***

It was not only a year or two. Not even five.

"You again."

Death bowed his head slightly.

"Me," he said mockingly.

Gerald Tarrant watched him warily. "It is not so serious as to warrant your attention," he said.

"I believe I am a better judge of such matters." Although Death had to admit that this was the first time he'd encountered such a… complication. Something Tarrant appeared well aware of, judging by the sardonic smile on his face.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Unless you consider such a minor injury worthy of your attention."

Death frowned. "This minor injury, as you call it, has led many into my arms," he said.

"Many, but not all," Tarrant pointed out. He seemed nervous, which was only appropriate, in Death's eyes. However, that hint of smug arrogance certainly wasn't.

"It is unusual," he was forced to admit.

That damned half-smirk. "Just so," Tarrant said.

"I could still have you," Death whispered, stepping closer. "Nothing is definite."

This time, unlike in childhood, Tarrant stood his ground.

He'd certainly grown spirited.

"Yours are the dead," Tarrant said. "And I have yet to die. It may disappoint you, but it will not happen tonight."

Death had to concede that he might have a point.

"It will happen," he said. "Perhaps not today, but maybe tomorrow. You will be mine, in the end. All are."

Tarrant quirked an eyebrow. "I beg your indulgence, then, for endeavouring to avoid that fate."

Tilting his head, Death slowly circled him, watching, studying. "I can wait," he murmured, his hands on Tarrant's shoulders, looking into the grey eyes. Tension beneath that mask of amused calmness. "You will call for me."

Tarrant met his gaze. "Never," he hissed.

Now it was Death who smiled. "Others have said that. And in the end they all came to me."  
***

Feeling hands on his shoulders, Tarrant looked up sharply from the treatise on the fae he had been immersed in deeply enough not to notice his visitor.

"I was not aware that I am in mortal danger here," he said carefully.

"There is always danger," Death pointed out, pleased when his hands were not shaken off as they slowly slid down the silk-clad arms. "There might be a fire. The building could collapse. Someone might come and decide that you do not deserve to live, and run you through with a sword. Or behead you, or leave you bleeding dry. Deadly methods, as you are well aware, I think. Your descendants would certainly agree."

"You should be pleased," Tarrant said, his voice level.

Death chuckled. "Nothing interesting," he said. "None of them were worth my attention. As you certainly know."

He had been intrigued, the first time. Not by the dead Tarrants, but by the motivation behind it.

"There may be more," Tarrant said. Death could feel a fine tremor under his fingers – not quite tamed yet to his touch, but willing. Like a high-spirited horse accepting a cautious hand.

He dared a little more, gripping firmly to draw Tarrant to his feet. A moment of resistance, then his urging was followed.

"Do you still say no?" Death asked softly. "Life can be so long. So tiring."

Under his hands, Tarrant stiffened. "You are aware of what I have done to be here," he snapped. "Do not presume that I chose that path lightly, or that I will leave it."

Death returned his hands to the tense shoulders. "One day you will," he whispered.

"One day, mankind may be brought to stop believing in you," Tarrant said. "I endeavour to live until then."

Smiling slightly, Death leaned closer. "We shall see," he murmured into a delicately shaped ear, "whether you will not come to me before that."

"Why should I?" Tarrant demanded, his body rigidly refusing to lean into the half-embrace.

Instead of a spoken answer, Death placed a light kiss on his cheek.

"Because you will want to."

"No," Tarrant said firmly, twisting away. "Never."

Death watched the thoughts flit behind the silver eyes. Weighed what he knew about this mortal.

"I can be generous," he said, "to those who heed my call. You would not regret it."

Tarrant glared at him, his expression stormy. "Never," he repeated. "I won't be yours."

"That," Death whispered, drawing him close in a swift motion and sliding his arms fully around the slender body, "that is where you are mistaken."  
***

After this encounter, Death decided to wait. It was obvious that his choice of interest was unlikely to easily lose his tension. Best to wait for the opportune moment.

It came after a few centuries, rather unexpectedly. Tarrant was a creature who didn't take risks, so finding him in such a situation was not something Death had counted on. He appreciated the chance, however – every being had a breaking point where the company of Death became more tempting than frightful. He rather thought that Tarrant might have reached that point now.

"You can let go," he whispered to the figure in the shadows that were Tarrant's retreat from what was hurting him so.

"No," was whispered back. "No."

"The pain will be gone," Death offered. "The fire will be extinguished for you."

A pause, and Death permitted himself a small smile. So close. A little more and he would have him.

"Will you remain in the fire forever?" he asked. "Burn, feel your blood boil, your skin crack, your flesh turn to ash…"

"No." More weakly now, though. Fading resistance, after eight days of struggling. Death had chosen his moment carefully.

He took a few steps forward, precisely measured. So difficult, this one. So stubborn. It added to his value.

"You prefer the pain over the peace I can give you?" Death asked softly. "You truly would rather burn forever? Think of what I offer."

"Death," Tarrant hissed. "I don't want that."

"You will," Death promised. "The moment will come when you will yearn for me. Sooner, perhaps, than you think. But do not fear. I will be close."  
***

"As I said, sooner than you might think." Death crouched at the fallen figure's side, running gloved fingers through the dirt-caked hair. So like his own when it was clean, just as Tarrant's appearance resembled his own when he was not burned beyond recognition. Death did not appreciate sunlight greatly, but he imagined that Tarrant liked it even less.

"Come with me," he said once again. "You will be whole. No more pain, Gerald."

Tarrant stirred, slowly pushed himself up on his elbows just far enough to raise his head and meet Death's eyes.

"Don't call me Gerald," he snapped. Death had to applaud his spirit.

"As you wish," he said amiably. "If you will come with me." He raised a hand, forestalling any protests. "It will all be so much easier for you if you do. No more burns, no more pain, no more sunlight…"

"No."

Death tilted his head. "Why not?"

For long moments Tarrant just looked at him. "I won't choose you," he eventually said. "Never. The price I paid to be here today was too high, even if I wanted to. Go, try to seduce someone else."  
***

"I believe the company you keep these days may not be the best," Death mused.

Tarrant glowered at him from where he lay on the dirty ground in the little cavern.

"Three times in less than a year that we meet, and that when you spent centuries avoiding my company." Death smiled, shook his head. "I admit that it makes me wonder."

"My choice," Tarrant hissed. "And I am not dying."

Death crossed over to his side in a few smooth steps and knelt down.

"Are you so certain?" he asked. "It doesn't take much to come to me, and these injuries would certainly be enough. Just let go, that is all you need to do. Let this mortal fend for himself and endanger someone else."

His fingers caressed a burned cheek, and for the merest of instants Tarrant leaned into the touch before turning away.

"No," he snapped. "Not yours. Never."

"Never is so finite," Death said, letting his hand settle on Tarrant's shoulder. "You will reconsider, one day."

The look Tarrant gave him was pure stubbornness.

"Never," he repeated.  
***

"Don't bother," Tarrant told him less than a month later. "I am not dying this time either."

Death stepped closer, frowning inwardly when there was no flinch in reaction to him this time. He didn't like it when they felt so certain that they would escape. And even less did he like it when they were right.

"You could have," he said gently. "Wouldn't it have been a comfort to know that I would wait here for you?"

To his surprise, Tarrant gave the question some thought. "Perhaps," he eventually said. "It would mean that there is someone to negotiate with, after all."

"I cannot be bribed," Death pointed out, somewhat indignantly.

Tarrant's sudden smile was almost feral. "Everyone has a price. And the Death mankind believes in will consent to certain gambles if they are demanded. On this planet, I do believe that you are quite bound to those conventions. You can be reasoned with."

Death listened in curiosity. This was a new side to this chosen morsel. Interesting to see him fearless, even though it was almost an insult. Still, if this was what it took to end Tarrant's terror of dying, then Death was willing to leave him his speculations. And draw him closer.

"What would you offer me?" he asked.

Tarrant regarded him calmly, cautiously flexing his burned fingers. "What is it that you want?" he asked, wincing a little as he balled his hand to a fist and spread it again. "Aside from my life, that is."

"I won't be denied if I choose to have it," Death said, his voice icily quiet.

If Tarrant noticed, he gave no sign of it. "If you could, you already would have," he countered. "Everyone has a price. What is yours?"

"For sparing you?" Death shook his head. "It is what I desire," he whispered, reaching out and taking Tarrant's hand, slowly stroking the burned skin. "I wish for nothing else."

A glare from grey eyes, then the hand was withdrawn. "In that case," Tarrant said, "I fear that your wish will remain unfulfilled."  
***

"Mine," Death whispered, crouching next to the fallen figure on the mountain slope. No doubt this time; the fae had washed through Tarrant's body, leaving it shattered in all the important ways. Physically intact, but there no longer was a safe place for the delicate soul when every nerve was burning in white-hot flames.

Death held out a gloved hand, laid it on Tarrant's chest, reached for the soul inside. Gently, unwilling to scare away his prize. He had learned from their past encounters – better treat this one with care, lest he struggled once more out of fear and sheer stupidity.

The soul followed willingly, drawn to Death's touch and what it promised. He caressed, petted, whispered as he bound Tarrant to himself in this crucial moment. Just a little longer, then the soul would be completely free and in his realm, forever with him.

He let his hands linger on Tarrant's chest when he felt the soul flutter awake and regain awareness.

Tarrant held carefully still, then met his eyes.

"I have died?" he asked after a moment.

Death nodded.

Tarrant considered this. "I should have paid closer attention to Vryce's swearing," he said eventually.

Eyebrows rising, Death watched as the soul went through a quick reassessment of the situation. He occupied himself by slowly running a hand down Tarrant's flank, taking a moment to will away the dust and dirt. Calm moves, kept light, but when Tarrant seemed too occupied to care, Death allowed his touches to become more deliberate. Soon Tarrant was shifting into them, and if it was an unconscious reaction, then Death did not care. Finally this soul was his, after all the waiting. He yearned to find out just how complex, how layered, nine centuries would leave a man. This one might last before passing on, as the others had so quickly done.

"Isn't it better like this?" Death murmured, leaning in to trail his fingers along a pale cheek, soon followed by his lips as he dared more.

The soul flinched but did not shy away.

"What do you want?" Tarrant asked, managing to sound both alluring and demanding at the same time.

Death looked at him and took a moment to admire the newest addition to his realm. The appearance had become so much more refined over the centuries, to the point where Death thought he could almost catch a glimpse of himself.

"I want you," he whispered, then bowed his head to claim Tarrant's mouth whit his own.

Tarrant permitted it, and Death could feel the exact moment when the soul gave in and the tension faded.

In the end, they all succumbed.

Slowly, carefully, Death slipped his arm around Tarrant's shoulders, coaxed him to sit up. The soul followed him while the body remained on the stony ground – another move towards him and away from the world of the living. Or the not dead, Death amended.

He deepened the kiss as he pulled Tarrant closer, his arms around the soul's waist. Bolder now that he knew that his goal was achieved. A bit of teasing, and the lips against his mouth finally parted, allowing him to explore. Death did so at leisure, pleased at how responsive his new claim was. He should have attempted this before – had he misinterpreted Tarrant's resistance? Revivalists had complicated matters before with their notions of propriety.

When Tarrant's hands came around him in a tentative embrace, Death smiled and let himself be gathered closer. Then he smiled again as his kisses drew a soft, quiet sound from Tarrant's lips even as the soul nestled closer. A hand slid down his side, lingered at his hip, teasing, playing with the hem of his shirt before slipping underneath it, shockingly hot against his skin. Smooth fingers drew lazy circles on the small of his back, so tantalizing in their warmth.

Death closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of having another's warmth against him. Then he gasped as Tarrant suddenly drew back and rose to his feet.

"As I said before, everything has a price," Tarrant told him calmly, in spite of Death's angry glare.

"Not here!" Death reached out, but Tarrant took a step back, avoiding his grasp.

"Everywhere." Tarrant studied him, then smiled very slightly. "I have something you want. And you can do something for me. I propose an exchange."

For long moments, all Death could do was stare.

"How dare you!" he demanded, outraged at the sheer audacity of suggesting a deal as though he was nothing more than a merchant. And that when matters had finally begun to look brighter.

"I should crush you, leave you drifting for all eternity in the void!"

"You could," Tarrant said, maddeningly reasonable. "But then you lose as well. You lose me."

"Why would I care?" Death asked, struggling for calm.

"Because you waited for almost a thousand years. Even for you that cannot pass quickly." Again that half-smile that didn't reach the grey eyes. "Such an effort only to watch it fail in the end. It doesn't seem like you."

Death stepped towards him, a little surprised when Tarrant held his ground.

"You are not important!" Death hissed. "Only one mortal out of thousands. Millions. It will be easy to find another."

Tarrant's smile widened almost imperceptibly. "And yet you followed me for all those years."

There was nothing Death could say that wouldn't have been a transparent lie, so he refused Tarrant the pleasure of seeing him flustered.

"You want more of what you've just tasted," Tarrant said, still infuriatingly calm. "And I want you to leave me alive. I do think that this presents us with a logical solution."

Ruthless, audacious mortal! He should be left floating in nothingness forever for even considering to make demands. Rip the soul to shreds, let it fade into blackness…

Death was interrupted in his musings by a feather-light kiss on his lips.

"Do you want this?" Tarrant murmured against his mouth.

Death drew him closer, kissed him hungrily despite all determination not to bother with such an insolent soul.

"Yes," he hissed.

"Then do you agree?" Tarrant went on. "Will you let me live? And in a state where I will stay alive for more than a few moments? And will you vow not to claim me before my time?"

"Your time," Death said, leaning back to look into the grey eyes, "was nine centuries ago."

Tarrant didn't appear to care. "Just so," he said. "Your decision?"

"I should end your existence," Death informed him. So tempting.

"Will you?" Tarrant asked. "Or do you agree to my offer?

Another kiss, more demanding, and Death found himself almost dizzy.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes. I agree."

"Very good. Slender hands found their way back underneath his shirt, cleverly teasing. "Very good."

Death reached for Tarrant, drawing him into a tight embrace away from the body, the crater. Away from harsh reality and into the comforting shadows.

Tarrant regarded him warily. "Need I remind you of our agreement?" he asked.

"I will honour it. But you did not stipulate the location where I may call in your side of the bargain. "Death smiled and placed an almost gentle kiss on Tarrant's brow. He might still win this soul, but not by force. Careful. So cautious, this one.

Death did not mind fear. Even resistance was acceptable. But not forever.

Tarrant's mouth found his again, more questioning than dominating, and he took the offer. Solid shadows behind them and he pushed Tarrant back, following hungrily as he leaned against him. Rebellion flared up in the silver eyes, but it was quelled after an instant and the figure in his arms became pliant.

Enticing, and Death had no intention to resist now that he had what he wanted, even if the circumstances weren't as he'd envisioned.

"Stay," he whispered, trailing kisses along Tarrant's jaw line back to a delicate ear. "Stay," he repeated. Kissing, licking, nipping. Tarrant shivered against him, and he continued his teasing with the slightest of smiles upon his face.

"No," Tarrant countered calmly.

Displeased, Death bit down where the tender skin at the side of Tarrant's neck pulsed with the heartbeat, quickened by fear and tension and a hint of arousal. A gasp, almost pained, but there were no more satisfying answers forthcoming.

Next time, someone with a little less willpower. Although it did make things interesting.

Feeling arms slide around his waist again, Death licked the bite soothingly in reward.

"I thought you might decide that your participation is not needed," he said.

The look Tarrant shot him was haughty. "I know the price adequate in exchange for what I ask of you."

"Excellent," Death murmured, returning his attention to Tarrant's skin, nipping and kissing. Unblemished, smooth, and the tunic the soul wore just as the body did was highly offensive as it prevented him from getting more. A gesture and it vanished, subject to Death's will in his realm.

Eyebrows raised, Tarrant lanced at him, Then Death suddenly found himself with his back against the shadowy wall, Tarrant trapping him into place. A hard thigh pushed between his legs, and he couldn't help moaning appreciatively.

Swift fingers deftly undid the lacings of his clothes, the light tugs interspersed with kisses. Demanding now instead of passive, and Death felt his pleasure rise.

"You will be mine," he hissed as he was kissed once more, his wrists pinned above his head by Tarrant's hand.

"For now," Tarrant answered. "But remember our agreement."

Death sighed. "Of course," he said, testing the strength of Tarrant's hold on him. "As long as you uphold your side."

"I have every intention of doing so," Tarrant assured him, then bit his neck, making him moan in surprise.

They didn't talk much after that, when Tarrant set out to prove that he was worth an exception to the rules. Not that he hadn't arrogantly claimed such status before, over the course of the last nine centuries, Death thought as he pushed him backwards against the slowly fading shadows. Death followed him down, his hunger growing. His, finally his, as they all eventually were, no matter how hard they fought.

Slowly running a hand down Tarrant's side, Death couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate his prize once more. It would have been a shame to gather this soul early, without witnessing the full potential. Such heady pleasure in touching the pale skin, causing gasps with nothing more than a touch in the right place. Much more than the usual soul could offer, and Death knew that this was due to the centuries of defiance.

His now, his alone, and a look into Tarrant's eyes told him that he wasn't the only one aware of this. He could feel the reluctant submission in a thousand little ways – the minute hesitation before reacting to his urgings, the tension in the lean muscles, the stubborn attempt to remain silent in face of Death's attentions. And yet the willingness to do this in order to achieve a higher goal. Death saw the determination on Tarrant's face and smiled wickedly when a touch to Tarrant's inner thigh turned it to startled apprehension for an instant before it finally changed to an expression of sheer challenge.

He chose to be considerate, knowing that he had to be if he didn't want Tarrant to have another reason for avoiding death with such single-mindedness. For a moment he thought Tarrant would shy away despite it, but then the determination was back on the handsome face, daring him to continue.

With a slow grin he did, moaning helplessly as heat engulfed him, hot as only living, breathing mortals could be. So rarely felt, and he wanted to drown himself in the warmth, let himself be submerged completely. Tarrant's arms came around his shoulders, hot, too, against his bare skin. More, but not enough, not nearly enough. Death let the heat wrap around him, pushed into it, let himself be scorched.

He saw Tarrant throw his head back, golden hair spilling against the darkness of the shadows as he sighed in reluctant pleasure. Absently Death wondered whether this was what it would take to bring him over. Then all such thoughts faded as he focused on the sensations, on the tightness, the glorious heat. Higher and higher, so hot, until he could not take any more and let the fire burn through him.  
***

"You son of a bitch," he heard Vryce whisper hoarsely, "you're alive!"

Gerald Tarrant clung to the words, struggled out of the darkness and towards them. He had never hoped more that Vryce was right about something.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure wave at him.

"Until next time," Death said, then bowed. "And there will be no bargaining then."


End file.
